


The Knight with the Robot Arm: A Ballad

by Toft



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/F, Poetry, robot arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toft/pseuds/Toft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This poem is ridiculous. Happy birthday!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Knight with the Robot Arm: A Ballad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepsix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepsix/gifts).



On the morning of the tourney,  
the nobles who had made the journey  
filled the lists, programs in hand,  
all eyes upon the royal stand.  
The meadow shone in emerald green,  
flags flew like jewels, and when the queen  
held up her hand, the knights came forward  
to battle all for their reward,  
of queenly make-outs, and a hat,  
because the queen was into that.

The gentry is a smallish band  
because of intermarrying, and  
all were bros, if not quite brothers;  
anyway, most knew each other.  
But one stranger stood apart,  
leaning casually on a cart,  
his cloak around his solid frame;  
not a whisper of his fame  
had reached the tourney till that morning.  
He’d rode in as the day was dawning  
on a steaming, snorting charger,  
ten foot tall, or even larger.  
The stranger did not show his face  
or actually any place  
until the herald blew his trumpet  
and the queen put down her crumpet  
wiped the crumbs from off her dress  
and gave the crowd a brief address.  
The knight stepped forward, undid the clasp  
upon his cloak; the gentry’s gasp  
gave sudden vent to their alarm  
as he revealed his robot arm.

Iron tendon, copper sinew,  
his alloyed bones - dare I continue? -  
shone beneath the morning sun  
like the barrel of a gun  
(I beg your pardon for the crime  
of anachronistic rhyme).  
His skin was scarred where flesh met steel,  
which added to his sex appeal,  
and pistoned fingers flexed around  
his sword hilt, long and leather-bound.

A cry arose; the cyborg knight  
stepped into the lists to fight  
he gave no name, but only said  
“Who fights with me shall soon be dead.”  
His first opponent galloped forward  
only to be swiftly gored  
the second knight who made advance  
was pierced right through with doughty lance.

The cyborg knight could not be beat  
and squires whispered, “What a treat!”  
The queen’s gaze was intent on him  
and lingered on his metal limb;  
his sinews glinted in the sun,  
and all at once her heart was won.  
Smiling wide from ear to ear  
she forgot to drink her beer  
and left her other snacks untouched  
while to her cheeks there rose a flush.  
The queen found in her quite a liking  
for this violent robo-viking.  
“Stop the games! the tourney’s done!  
The mysterious knight of steel has won!”

The knight with robot arm stepped down  
to accept the winner’s crown,  
then strode towards the royal seat,  
and the buffet of cold meat.  
“Remove your helmet, champion knight!”  
She said, and, most amazing sight,  
the knight pulled off his metal carapace  
to reveal - a woman’s face!  
Her hair tumbled down in curls  
her cheeks were freckled like a girl’s  
her lips were full, her forehead scarred  
but barely was her beauty marred.  
The queen did not miss a beat,  
but rose ceremonially to her feet,  
and bestowed the first prize kiss, with tongue,  
in fact, she lingered rather long  
until it got a little awkward  
for the royal cheering squad.  
At last they broke off, slightly breathless  
and the queen, with laughter reckless,  
called the knight into her tent  
and away her retinue sent.  
“Would you consider a private gig  
in my royal security rig?”  
She whispered, as she undid her dress  
the knight’s eyes widened; she moaned, “Oh, yes!”  
“I need a fighter, one like you,  
or, ideally, two,  
to bring to me my enemy’s head  
and to ravish me in bed.  
I’ll bet that arm’s not only good  
for dealing death and shedding blood!”  
The cyborg warrior drew near  
to the queen’s brown, spiral ear.  
After ensuring she was listening  
she whispered, “It’s also good for fisting.”

And on that note, I’ll close this poem  
I hope it has sufficed for showing  
that even in the middle ages  
robot arms were all the rage(s).


End file.
